


Beauty

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Silly, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Aliens are weird and Jim’s terrible at beading.





	Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcdanno28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcdanno28/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for mcdanno28’s “14[Beads] [...] Spock/Kirk” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/163120603835/prompt-list-4).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Mrennenimus Prime doesn’t _look_ all that strange, at least, not relative to some of the other wild places Jim’s been, everywhere from the Sulamid homeworld to Mrennenimus Seven. The heart of the Mrennenimian Empire has blue skies, green grass, and pink-purple tiles that just look like someone ran marble through a computerized filter. The people it bears are short, though not quite so short as the Tellarites, strict, though not quite as strict as the Vulcans, and blue, though not quite as blue as the Andorians. They smile like humans, but it’s hard to make those smiles reach their slit-like eyes. 

The elected queen is the one to greet Jim off the transporter platform, built up on a mound in the center of her gardens. She’s flanked by two nobles, reflecting how Jim’s flanked by Spock and Bones, out of not rank but request—she insisted on his most ‘ _beloved_ ’ officers. It made Bones’ brows rise almost as high as Spock’s. But Jim just wore a grin when he chose his landing party, and no one questioned him. The three of them step down onto the grass to meet her, bowing in the Mrennenimian tradition—backwards.

When they straighten, the queen thrusts a little sphere forward, its metallic walls cradled in her open palms, and she tells them, “On behalf of my people, may yours accept this gift.” The lid pops open, revealing a coil of blue-gold beads strung together like a sleeping snake. Jim smiles his thanks.

He holds out his own box, one carefully delivered from HQ itself, ferried by three particularly snooty diplomats that didn’t meet Jim’s ‘beloved’ standard. When he clicks a little button on the back, the lid lifts, revealing a sea of multi-coloured, multi-textured beads from all across the Federation.

The queen looks down at them, bends over from the waist to better peer inside, then tilts back to tell Jim blankly, “There must be some mistake.”

It’s a struggle not to immediately frown. If they were on the Enterprise, Jim would lean carefully aside and await Spock’s report, because this isn’t something he can figure out on his own—he’s done everything by the book, and they’ve barely even started. He read the report three times over. He memorized his orders. And the universal translator seems to be working flawlessly. 

Bones is the first to break the silence by conspicuously clearing his throat. Jim would shoot him a glare if not for present company. Instead, Jim politely answers, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Your beads are loose,” the queen says. “What am I to do with loose beads?”

Whatever she did to make the chain she gave them. But Jim, of course, doesn’t say that, instead opens his mouth, only to find that he doesn’t have a good answer. He’s surprised when Spock says over him, “Our apologies, Prime Monarch. But we were not aware of the correct rituals in preparing them.”

Jim’s mind flashes back to the report and a slew of rituals the Mrennenimians practice, none of which were supposed to enter today’s meeting. But that’s what he has Spock for—remembering the details, large or small. The queen jerks her arm left—their version of a nod—signaling that Spock’s saved them. “Of course,” she soothes, “I understand. I forgot that your worlds are poor in the fine art of beading.”

And Jim, practiced with this sort of absurdity, just stays quiet through the maybe-insult. Then the queen lifts one leg, and one of the nobles behind her abruptly turns on their bare heels and marches back for the castle behind them, the long orange tunic all three wear stirring in the light breeze. 

To Jim, the queen continues, “We will do this here—then I may see the Federation’s beading skills properly. Yes, this is a good development. But surely you are capable of beading without so many hands. I will permit you to keep one of your attendants for council, however. Please choose your dearest servant.”

It takes a bit more effort to not show any reaction to this one. He doesn’t correct the queen on the use of the term ‘servant,’ and is especially thankful he doesn’t have to deal with the ‘dearest’ part. He looks aside at Bones, nodding once and letting that be it. Bones visibly fights back a grin, eyes twinkling. Later, Jim will explain that it has nothing to do with who’s _dear_ to him, only that his first officer is the logical choice to stay. But he knows Bones will tease him mercilessly anyway, logic be damned. 

Without a word, Bones heads back up on the platform, whipping out his communicator and calling Scotty for a beam up with, for once, no complaint on the use of the transporters. It’s telling. Jim only hopes he’ll be beaming back up himself soon enough to circumvent any rumours. 

When Bones has disappeared in a haze of twinkling particles, Jim looks back to the queen, who stares between Jim and Spock for a long minute before jerking her arm again and then standing back on one foot.

“We will do it here,” the queen tells them, balancing precariously as servants start pouring in around the edges of the wide garden, carting pillows and bowls. They’re all blue, dressed in orange tunics only, and difficult for Jim to tell apart, though he’s sure Spock would disagree. None of them say a word to Jim, and the mounting silence starts to make the strange world feel vaguely ominous. He tries to ignore that. A large purple pillow is set behind the queen, her attendant, Jim, and Spock, one each, and various little bowls are placed before them. When the servants have disappeared again, the queen plops abruptly down onto her pillow and stares at them intently. 

The familiar tingling of pressure sets into Jim’s body as he sits, compounded by the fact that he doesn’t know exactly _what_ he’s supposed to do or how long he’s allowed to take. The queen’s sphere is set before her, but Jim can’t see the contents enough to discern much, and he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to take it out and look. It’s easier to just turn to Spock and give him that subtle _look_ that should speak volumes.

Spock meets his heavy gaze, their minds nearly whispering aloud, brushing up against one another the way they do after a meld, when it’s still fresh and Jim can _feel_ Spock beneath his skin. They get that sometimes at other moments, when Jim’s glance will linger too long or Spock will stray too close to his chair. Sometimes it’s when they’re trapped alone in a turbolift or when their fingers brush across the chessboard. The melds have never been anything but professional, necessary for one mission or another, but they still feel absurdly _intimate_ , and even if neither has ever said it out loud, Jim knows that connection lingers.

He uses that now, willing Spock to make the first move, to channel some miniscule detail from a year-old report on this crazy new culture. Finally, Spock subtly inclines his chin in what might be a nod.

He reaches into the bowls at their feet, patting the cream-coloured inside, until the queen points at the one third from the left and announces, “This holds the string. Forgive me; I forgot that your eyes are beading-inferior. The rest are for the division of your beads, so that the patterns might present themselves to you.”

Spock answers, “Yes, Prime Monarch,” because the Mrennenimians have no words for ‘thank you,’ and gratitude is often a superfluous reaction to Vulcans anyway. 

Feeling the bowl she indicated, Spock scoops out what must be string, although Jim can’t see it, and proceeds to eye the open box Jim’s set before them. Neither of them seem to know what bead to pick first, and after a minute or two of absolutely nothing happening, Spock asks, “Captain?”

So Jim, feeling rather put-on-the-spot and let down by his supposed mental lifeline to Spock, chooses a black crystalline bead painted with little white dots like stars. Spock holds out what Jim assumes to be the end of the string, and Jim spends a good minute trying to get the bead on the end of something he can’t see. He tries everything from touching it first to lining up right against Spock’s fingers before it finally pops on.

Spock lifts the string to let it slide down to an end he holds off in the other hand. Both he and Jim then look at the queen expectantly, only to find her staring right back at them, eyes now wide enough to encompass at least a third of her head. 

It’s easily the most awkward mission Jim’s ever had. He’s had a lot of difficult ones, and a fair few where he had no idea what to do, but they didn’t usually involve the local royalty staring at him, Spock, and a box of beads. 

Jim pointedly says, “Spock,” to signal him not having to choose the second bead.

At least Spock seems to understand this, and he doesn’t take as long to pick. He adds a shimmering white tube next to Jim’s crystal, then deliberately looks at Jim again. Jim wastes a few seconds staring into those dark orbs, then surrenders.

He selects three red flower sculptures no bigger than his nail that look to be made of clay. He pops them on three in a row, only to wonder belatedly if he should’ve thought of some pattern at the start of this. But then, he has no idea what the contents of their box is. Before he makes Spock take the fourth move, he picks the box up to pour a little bit out of it into the three bowls closest to them. 

It does absolutely nothing other than spread the beads out. It doesn’t give him any new inspiration and the assortment looks as random as ever. He tries glancing at the queen’s attendant for help, but they’re only looking at their queen, and she’s only looking at Jim. 

Like taking pity on him, Spock scoops out a plain brown circle made of wood. He adds it, and Jim adds a large bauble of primary colours. Spock gives him a sharp look for it, one that Jim thinks might actually contain _disapproval_ of all things. And the weirdest part is that Jim sort of agrees. It clashes with the rest of their string. But he doesn’t know what wouldn’t clash, and as the queen didn’t protest, he just pops on another random bead and figures he’ll keep going. 

He’s in the middle of pulling out another clay rose when Spock nudges his hand. The warmth of Spock’s skin gives Jim a little start, or maybe it’s the spark their contact always brings, especially in a strange setting like this where Spock’s the only other sanity he understands. Spock carefully tucks the string’s end into Jim’s palm, having to show it by feel since Jim can’t _see_ it. Jim tries not to think about just how sensitive Spock’s hands are, and even more so how he knows that. Even after he’s got a grip on it, Spock feels around his fingers as though to make sure he’s holding it. Under Spock’s searching caress, the queen’s gaze feels vaguely voyeuristic. Jim tries to push that out of his head. Then Spock adds a bead to the other end, now being freer to do so. 

Jim also takes it as a sign to add beads to his own side, which he’ll admit is faster, but also more dangerous—every time he tries to thread a new one, he worries he’ll drop it and they’ll have to start all over. 

At first, they’re a mess, just popping things on at random—or at least, Jim is—while the majority of the strings hangs empty between them. But then they slowly develop a rhythm, and Jim realizes that their hands keep winding up searching the same bowls, often even trying to draw out the same bead before realizing their mistake, and threading different ones in tandem. Jim concentrates on this: the odd beat they work to, trying to block out the pressure of their audience and just focus on him and Spock getting a job done together. It’s not like they haven’t made it through a hundred other impossible situations. And together they finally reach the ends of their ropes, with no room left to bead save the part clutched beneath their fingers, and Jim finally lifts his gaze. 

The queen eyes their string of beads like Chekov must eye Russia. For one bizarre moment, Jim thinks they’ve miraculously done _well_.

But then the queen jerks both arms out, nearly slapping her attendant in the face, and announces, “I cannot accept this.”

Jim’s heart sinks, mostly at the prospect of having to do it again. Even though he completely sees that their ‘necklace’ is a hideous abomination. He doesn’t ask why it’s unacceptable, and she takes a dramatic pause before telling him. 

Then she reaches forward, having to lean far across the space to place one hand on Jim’s end of the string, the other on Spock’s. She takes a long look at both of their faces before telling Jim, “I was wrong. The Federation is still strong in beading, for I can see the passion in this masterpiece. I was also wrong to have you choose your beloved—I can see now that your bonds are too strong to create art for any other. I will not take your lovechild from you.”

As she retracts her grip, Jim just stares numbly at her, half sure he’s misheard. She can’t possibly be referring to their atrocious string of horribly mismatched beads as a _lovechild_.

Abruptly, the queen springs back up on one leg. As before, servants rush forward, three at a time, each with tools in their hands. Before Jim can react, one’s cut their string in half, and the other two are immediately fastening all four ends before any beads can fall. The middle servant with the scissor-like instrument then departs back through the flower bush from whence they came, while the other two lift one half of the string against Jim’s wrist and the other around Spock’s. Jim dazedly lets them fasten and clasp it together around him in the ugliest bracelet he’s ever seen. Spock’s is only slightly less awful. They don’t even match. 

When he looks at the queen, there seems to be tears in the tops of her eyes. “A masterpiece,” she sniffs, and then pushes the sphere she first presented them forwards.

Jim collects it and mutters, “Thanks,” forgetting himself. She makes no note of the error. 

“Keep them well, Federation friends,” she professes. “Your love belongs on one another. I will never forget this day.”

And then she promptly falls back onto the grass, sighing happily. Her attendant climbs up to one leg, thus summoning the servants again, this time enough to gather up the queen and carry her towards the house. 

Jim’s confused as hell. He’s also worried he’s blushing. He tugs his sleeve absently over his bracelet and wonders if he’ll actually keep the damn thing. He wonders even harder if Spock will. 

Spock mutters under his breath, “Most illogical,” which Jim figures makes more sense in this situation than ‘fascinating.’

But as he doesn’t have servants to carry him off, he has to collect the box and sphere of beads, leaving the emptied-out bowls, and heads back to the transported pad. Spock follows, bracelet curiously displayed.


End file.
